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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23987200">Odd and new beginnings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeShavocadoo/pseuds/FreeShavocadoo'>FreeShavocadoo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Lovers, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Introspection, Multi, OT4 plus one, odd dynamics, relationship origins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:00:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,046</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23987200</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeShavocadoo/pseuds/FreeShavocadoo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Uhtred of Bebbanburg was known for picking up companions in rather peculiar ways. Sihtric had insisted he wished to serve an honourable warrior and had been a loyal and valuable companion ever since. Finan, he’d grasped to in his travels across the seas in slavery, bound by a bond of survival and respect.  Osferth had, rather unwillingly, been taken under all of their wings under the title of ‘bastard’, coming of his own in a way that still surprised Uhtred even now.</p><p>Sigtryggr was cut from a different cloth.</p><p>((Sigtryggr joins the gay brigade AU))</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Finan/Sihtric/Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Finan/Sihtric/Uhtred/Osferth, Sigtryggr/everyone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Odd and new beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Change had followed them all like a storm for a long time.</p><p>Whether it was tumultuous, unbearable and relentless or the type of storm that finishes as quickly as it begins, leaving behind the smell of fresh grass and sun cracking across hilltops, they couldn’t escape it.</p><p>The constant movement meant that it was inevitable they would be affected by changing faces, places and priorities, with each other being the only constants.</p><p>That was until <em>he </em>came along.</p><p>Uhtred of Bebbanburg was known for picking up companions in rather peculiar ways. Sihtric had insisted he wished to serve an honourable warrior and had been a loyal and valuable companion ever since. Finan, he’d grasped to in his travels across the seas in slavery, bound by a bond of survival and respect.  Osferth had, rather unwillingly, been taken under all of their wings under the title of ‘bastard’, coming of his own in a way that still surprised Uhtred even now.</p><p>Sigtryggr was cut from a different cloth.</p><p>He had been introduced as a threat, not in the associative way that Sihtric had been, but a genuine threat to the cause they had decided to all fight for.</p><p>Uhtred had a long and storied history with fighting Danes, all of a different but common variety. Men like Ubba, famed for their legendary battles and the formation of great armies; men blinded by ambition and ties to family that only served superficial purposes that gave adequate reason for revenge. Men like Kjartan, famed for cruelty and cunning, as easy to predict as the footsteps of the streams of men into a brothel.</p><p>It was an immense source of frustration for them all that Sigtryggr didn’t fit into any of the moulds they were all so familiar with.</p><p>After all, he’d all but imposed himself on their group, insisting he would cease his occupation of Winchester if he were allowed to travel with Uhtred of Bebbanburg, which was already enough for them to mistrust him.</p><p>Why would a Dane who had served a humiliation to the Saxons so severe, so unexpected, willingly hand it over at the tipping point of victory just to travel with a mismatched group of men with which he had no similarity or relationship?</p><p>For Uhtred, the main point of frustration was how enigmatic Sigtryggr was even after seasons of travel. Every time he felt he’d grasped the essence of the man and his personality, he’d be left just as confused as when he’d first landed his eyes on a man whose demeanour was a mystery.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The sky is so black, the stars illuminate the woodland around them, acting in equal measure as a thing of beauty and of slight unease. The breeze is gentle for winter, making lying in sparse grass under a great oak tree less taxing than it could have been.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In the distance, Osferth and Finan bicker, albeit with tones of mockery, about the most effective way to light a small fire that is still hot enough to warm them all. Sihtric seems content to bundle in his fur beside the bickering, occasionally offering an opinion for his own amusement, siding against whoever he felt he’d get the biggest reaction out of in the moment.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Uhtred only notices the footsteps reach his side when Sigtryggr’s face is already above him, scarred and bemused.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Do you wish for a small fire?” He asks, something in the tonality of his accent reminding Uhtred strongly of some of the Danes Ragnar used to have in and out of his home intermittently between raids, not heavily affected yet by being around Saxons for long periods of time. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He'd rather fall on his sword than admit that he likes it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Surely if I were to want that,” Uhtred can’t keep the slight bitterness from his tone, he wishes he knew why the man aggravated him so, “I’d lie over there, would I not?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sigtryggr, as usual, seems undeterred by the obvious malice in Uhtred’s voice, bemusement still on his face.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Well, that would imply they are able to start a fire between them.” He chuckles to himself and Uhtred resists the urge to laugh at his jest, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He huffs instead. “I didn’t realise you held such stock in fire-starting abilities.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“As opposed to holding such stock in despising a person because you cannot understand them, even though you do not seek to ask?” Sigtryggr’s tone is non-committal as he speaks, sitting metres away from Uhtred on his furs as he braids some of his untameable hair behind his ear.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It takes Uhtred a moment to truly digest his words, swallowing them with anger, and dare he admit it, guilt.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lying on his side and facing away from Sigtryggr’s face does little to alleviate his annoyance, likelier to be inflaming it further.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What is there to ask?” He knows if Osferth were privy to the conversation, he would, as he is the only prone to doing so, tell Uhtred that he was sulking.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was probably for the best he was flinging stones at Finan instead, then.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sigtryggr moves around a little, presumably lying down, not that Uhtred was about to turn around to confirm. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Am I a seer?” His voice is smug. “I do not presume to know what you wish to ask, only that you do not ask it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Uhtred thinks longingly about how Brida would undoubtedly sling Sigtryggr over the back of a horse unceremoniously were he to take this tone with her. It is probably the only reason he ever misses her, and in this moment, he has no doubt she’d be the one to wipe the smirk he probably has off his face.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Nonsense.” Uhtred’s anger rises and he turns around once more to face an expression even more bemused than it had been originally. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sigtryggr’s eyes twinkle, the scar across his eye only making him look more mischievous.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Apologies, <strong>Lord</strong>,” staring Uhtred dead in the eye as he utters what should be his final words, “I did not seek to upset you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Whether it is indignation at the mocking title of Lord falling from his lips, or the implication that he could upset Uhtred that moves Uhtred into action, he is unsure, but before he can regain his senses he all but dives towards the man with arms outstretched.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Indignation quickly turns into humiliation as he’s manoeuvred swiftly beneath Sigtryggr in his attempt to attack, a forearm leaning gently over his throat.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Are you sure you’re a famed fighter?” Sigtryggr’s teasing has reached its peak, now, and Uhtred struggles with mirth beneath him at the indignity of it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What would they all say, if they were to stop bickering over starting a fire, and be witness to this instead?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Get off me.” His voice is assertive, the type of voice that usually cuts through fighting to immediate response.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It just seems to elicit more glee from Sigtryggr, who’s forearm moves from Uhtred’s neck only for his finger to begin tracing lines over it instead, tracing the edge of his jaw delicately.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Are you sure?” He grins, finally showing his true self, part wolf, part trickster. “You seem to like being beneath me.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Perhaps this is how women feel when he focuses his affections on them, Uhtred ponders, as Sigtryggr catches him off guard with a searing kiss, only serving to make Uhtred’s head foggier than it was before as he groans, wondering why it is he seems to cause such pain in the seeking of pleasure for himself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He should’ve known he was royally fucked the second he was being goaded, and yet like a fool, he played right into Sigtryggr’s hands. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And just like that, Sigtryggr rolls away from Uhtred, landing atop his furs gracefully and pulling them over himself, turning away from Uhtred as though he’d said ‘goodnight’, instead of kissing the life from his lips.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Even now, two winters after that confusing interaction with many scattered in between, he wound around the group like a snake, slippery and unpredictable.</p><p>It was not to say they had not all grown fond of him, though some were much faster to affection than others, but that he was still to this day, hard to predict.</p><p>Much to all of their surprise, Osferth seemed to get along with Sigtryggr the fastest, likely due to the fact he would struggle to discriminate against him for being a Dane due to travelling with Uhtred and Sihtric, and not finding friction over faith due to the fact Sigtryggr was unexpectedly respectful and curious of Osferth’s devotion to Christianity.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Sat in tall grass, the sun shining in between clouds, they all rest. Weeks of relentless travel and poor weather had left them all surly and tired, and the warmth and chance to rest was a welcome reprieve. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Uhtred and Finan, as was their usual habit, bathed in a nearby stream together, a habit likely borne from their recuperation after being released from slavery; one never seemed entirely comfortable up to their waist in the water without the other nearby.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sihtric tended to the horses, humming softly under his breath, which seemed to calm them and him both in equal measure.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Osferth is reclined in the grass, one arm behind his head as he watches the clouds with a sleepy expression, utterly relaxed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He jolts a little when Sigtryggr’s fingers brush against the crucifix around his neck, lifting it from his chest.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What do you admire most about your faith?” Sigtryggr’s accent seems to dance through the air, regarding Osferth with curiosity as he places the crucifix back down onto his chest.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Well…,” Osferth turns to face Sigtryggr who sits cross-legged beside him, “I suppose the concept of forgiveness.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Forgiveness?” Sigtryggr’s head tilts, his hair falling haphazardly across his face momentarily.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes.” Osferth’s eyes seem to be in a far-away place. “Knowing that, as long as you repent or ask for forgiveness sincerely, you can be forgiven for transgressions.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sigtryggr hums in acknowledgement. “What is it you seek forgiveness for?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Osferth smiles gently. “That is between me and God, I’m afraid.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When Sigtryggr laughs, it is relatively quiet and melodic, rather than aggressive, as he lies on his back beside Osferth. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That is fair.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>The one who’d approached with vague curiosity and hesitation had, unsurprisingly, been Sihtric. He’d spent weeks barely saying more than a few sentences to Sigtryggr, preferring to observe him from a distance with caution than engage in conversations with him.</p><p>Instead of attempting to make conversation with Sihtric immediately, Sigtryggr seemed to be content to let Sihtric watch him from a distance, though he would often deliberately shoot Sihtric a grin or wink from time to time.</p><p>This only seemed to fuel Sihtric’s reluctance to be left in situations where he’d be unable to avoid interaction with Sigtryggr even more, usually managing to successfully force Finan into interacting with him instead by pouting.</p><p>Not that it seemed to have prevented them from interacting in the long-term.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The horses seem relaxed, having finally had time to rest and be properly tended to after consistent travel that had left them all weary. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Not that Sihtric minded tending to the horses. There had been a time Uhtred had mistakenly assumed Sihtric only tended to the horses because he assumed he had to, that it was one of the only things of worth he could give. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But he’d always been fond of horses. Like him, they were unnervingly perceptive, and they reminded him strongly of his mother, especially since he’d continued her habit of either singing gently or humming to the horses when brushing them down.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You have a beautiful voice.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The horses move with a start when Sihtric jolts, though his return to calm seems to prevent them from falling into a panic. His eyes move to land upon Sigtryggr, narrowed at the incursion on both his privacy, and in annoyance that the horses were startled.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I did not mean to startle you.” Sigtryggr’s voice is gentle, his arm stretching out to gently pet one of the horses. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Well you didn’t do a good job of <strong>not</strong> startling me, did you?” Sihtric huffs, walking away from the horses and towards the trees, stretching languidly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I suppose not.” Sigtryggr follows slowly, running his fingers through his hair. “Should I give you a warning next time?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Unlike Uhtred, Sihtric is not quite as fast to bristle, though his spine does seem to straighten at the words.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“If you’re always going to creep around like that, then yes.” He sticks his chin up, offering Sigtryggr a soft glare.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Aren’t you the one who’s constantly watching me?” Sigtryggr smiles sardonically, fingers stretching to curl some of Sihtric’s hair around his finger.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He’s so close, Sihtric can see how brilliantly blue Sigtryggr’s eyes are, practically swimming with colour as they crinkle at him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sihtric can’t help the rather horrible curse word that slips from his mouth, even at this age he feels immediate guilt, as though his late mother will descend upon him for daring to utter such a word.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“My, my,” Sigtryggr laughs, “I don’t think that was very kind.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I knew you were a snake the moment I laid eyes on you.” Sihtric glares properly this time, his sharp features beautifully contrasting with the warmth of his brown eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Is that why you avoid me?” He asks, looking amused. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes.” Sihtric answers plainly, startled as much as he had been previously when Sigtryggr leans forward to place a soft kiss on his cheek.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He winks. “Well it’s too late to avoid me now. Might as well enjoy it.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Of course, the biggest hurdle in their group was not the stubborn but determined Uhtred, or cautious but gentle Sihtric, or even deeply devoted and faithful Osferth.</p><p>No, it was the unruly, abrasive and highly jealous Finan.</p><p>He bristled every time Sigtryggr so much as looked at Uhtred, and seemed to shield Sihtric from his eyes at every opportunity. Whenever Osferth seemed to be sitting by himself, it was as though Finan would materialise at the mere indication of Sigtryggr moving in his direction.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I just wanted to talk-,”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Well <strong>just want </strong>doesn’t get, does it?” Finan’s chin sticks up slightly, only adding to his air of indignation, as though Sigtryggr had committed the highest form of treachery by daring to approach Sihtric to speak to him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Finan looks him up and down, a scowl on his face, his fingers rubbing at his beard in an agitated fashion.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Is there a reason that you-,”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sigtryggr barely gets a word in again. “Why I hate you?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sigtryggr hums, giving Finan an amused, if not exasperated, stare. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Does there have to be a reason?” Finan glares, with the air of a petulant child, as he sits in front of the fire with his hands outstretched for warmth.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I suppose not.” Sigtryggr sits close to, but not beside, Finan, watching him closely. “But in your case there is a reason.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ohhh,” the mockery in his voice seems to carry through the air, his Irish lilt only making it more dramatic, “<strong>is</strong> there now?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He turns to face Sigtryggr, seeming only to get more infuriated by the fact he even has to look at him directly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“If only Uhtred would have told us we’re in the company of a seer!” His voice is laced with mirth as he glowers. “Oh, no, do you prefer to be called the all-knowing one?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That could suffice.” Sigtryggr replies, his fingers fiddling absent-mindedly with grass.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As though attempting to avoid a war of his own creation, Finan takes a violent inhale and exhale in quick succession, murmuring in what Sigtryggr recognises as Gaelic. The sound nearly makes him recoil with memories of defeat in Ireland, and when Finan’s eyes move to him, he knows he may have given up too much. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Well, well, <strong>well</strong>.” Finan stands before him, a formidable figure, with his hands on his hips. “Scared of the Irish, are you?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sigtryggr shrugs his shoulders. “I suppose. I doubt that would include you, though.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What’s that supposed to mean?” Finan blusters, looking outraged. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You’re not exactly…scary.” Sigtryggr smiles, not unkindly. “Perhaps I have seen the way you mother your men too often to consider you as such.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t-,” Finan falters for a moment, a brief look of fondness at the mention of the others crossing his face before it returns to a scowl, “I don’t mother anyone.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Of course not.” Sigtryggr’s sarcasm couldn’t be more evident, and for that, he gets a swift smack across the head for his troubles. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And yes,” Finan’s voice rises, “as you said, <strong>my </strong>men. Not yours.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sigtryggr can’t hold back his choked laughter, even in the knowledge that it will only inflame Finan’s temper even more than it has already been, which is a dangerous game. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What’s so funny?” Finan looks dangerously close to drawing his sword, or simply going back to basic and belting Sigtryggr across the face.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Why would I assume they were mine?” Sigtryggr’s voice indicates how humoured he is by this prospect. “I’m aware that I am stepping into a group of which there are relationships I cannot hope to comprehend.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>This seems to quieten Finan slightly, if only for a moment, as he stares at Sigtryggr as though willing him to continue.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I do not seek to take anything from anyone,” Sigtryggr moves to lie down, settling for a moment before continuing, “I simply wish to be a part of something I crave.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As though his words have struck gold, Finan remains silent, still giving Sigtryggr a glare, but sitting beside him and nudging his head rather aggressively. “Well you’ve got a funny way of going about it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Maybe.” He replies nonchalantly, bold enough to place his head in Finan’s lap.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Instead of it being pushed off as he expects it to be, Finan’s fingers gently run through his hair, rather reminiscent of the way he finger-combs through Uhtred’s hair after he’s bathed. Sigtryggr can see why this placates Uhtred so much, it’s rather calming.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“If another smug word comes out of your mouth, though,” Finan’s breath tickles Sigtryggr’s ear as he leans down to whisper, “I’ll pull all of your hair out.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Progress is still progress.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I couldn't get this thought out of my head because it amused me so much. We already have a great OT4, and Sigtryggr certainly had the potential to make it a great OT5.</p><p>I always love feedback!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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